


Benediction

by manic_intent



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Easter Prompts, Holidays, M/M, Post-Canon, Snow, T'Challa sort of gate crashes a Jabari festival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14141721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: The Jabari winter froze jagged teeth of ice over the branches of slumbering trees. The wind that blew down from the peaks brought with it a bone-deep chill that burned T’Challa’s cheeks as he forged through knee-deep snow. Beside the mountain lake, a stretch of snow was cordoned off by laughing children. A snow sculpture competition was furiously underway.M’Baku was standing to a side, wearing just a vest, breeches and boots, a mantle of fur his only concession to the wind. He was carefully holding a StarkPad, prodding at the screen. “This device is very primitive,” he told T’Challa, as T’Challa slowed to a stop.





	Benediction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stageira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stageira/gifts).



> Easter Prompt #1: For Stageira, Black Panther, M’Balla: Snow, holiday, furs, internet. This can I guess be read into the same ‘verse as Shadow of the Panther, but it’s intended as a standalone so people don’t have to read SotP to understand it.

The Jabari winter froze jagged teeth of ice over the branches of slumbering trees. The wind that blew down from the peaks brought with it a bone-deep chill that burned T’Challa’s cheeks as he forged through knee-deep snow. Beside the mountain lake, a stretch of snow was cordoned off by laughing children. A snow sculpture competition was furiously underway.

M’Baku was standing to a side, wearing just a vest, breeches and boots, a mantle of fur his only concession to the wind. He was carefully holding a StarkPad, prodding at the screen. “This device is very primitive,” he told T’Challa, as T’Challa slowed to a stop. 

“I did offer you a set of Kimoyo Beads.” The StarkPad had been part of the first tranches of tech and information provided in a good faith exchange with the outside world. Shuri had laughed. _We trade them pearls for stones_. “How did you even get that?” 

M’Baku shrugged. “I was curious about Outsider technology and Princess Shuri sent it to me. It has some good functions.” M’Baku held the StarkPad up, taking a photo of the closest sculpture. A blobby, three-headed snake was rising from packed snow under the hands of two little girls. “How was your meeting in Geneva?” 

“You mean the one I asked you to attend with me?” 

M’Baku flashed him a brief, sharp smile. “No one else in your Tribal Council bothered to go. What would have been the point? Did you get anything done?”

“Not exactly, no.” Things moved slowly in the UN, sometimes in random directions. Everyone had been more interested in arguing over the poisoning of some Russian double agent and his daughter.

M’Baku looked over T’Challa’s shoulder. The Dora Milaje had settled themselves at the perimeter, their red armour a stark contrast against the snow and the muted earth-colours of the Jabari Primes. “And what are you doing here?”

“Wasn’t I invited? Shuri said something about a Jabari festival.” 

“ _She_ was invited. I don’t think you were, O King,” M’Baku said, though he grinned. 

“Ouch.” T’Challa was going to say more, but a particularly sharp gust of wind made him flinch, turning his face away from the cold. Inlaid with vibranium, his clothes were more than adequate for any weather, but the air burned on uncovered skin. 

“Here.” Something warm, fuzzy, and musky was tossed in his face. T’Challa nearly fumbled the furs in his surprise. By the time he draped it over his shoulders, M’Baku had wandered closer to the snake sculpture. The girls paused in their work, pointing at T’Challa and giggling. M’Baku rolled his eyes, saying something T’Challa couldn’t catch. 

By the time T’Challa caught up, M’Baku was already at the next sculpture. It was a centipede, coiled over itself, jaws outstretched. The legs were jags of ice, packed over with snow. “Why are all these children making monster sculptures?” T’Challa asked. The furs were soft against his throat and cheeks, still leavened by M’Baku’s warmth. 

“It’s Hanuman’s birthday,” M’Baku said, as though that explained everything. He took a wobbly picture of the centipede with the StarkPad. 

“Hanuman Jayanti? The Jabari seem to celebrate it rather early in the year. Compared to the rest of the world.”

“Before our winter gives in to the spring, yes.” The next sculpture was some sort of giant, many-toothed fish, with snowball faces along its flanks. “A celebration of divine courage and the warding away of evil.” 

“So… monster statues?” 

“You’ll see. It’s a competition.”

“Oh, I like this one,” T’Challa said, as they walked to the fourth. It was a big panther, six-legged, jaws bared wide. The boy and girl shaping it out of packed snow couldn’t have been older than thirteen. They laughed as they recognised T’Challa, without shame or fear. 

“The big bad panther is missing a necklace,” M’Baku told them, pointing at T’Challa’s throat. “See?” 

“A biased judge, terrible,” T’Challa said, chuckling. The children obligingly started pressing packed triangular chips around the panther’s throat. 

“I’m not the judge.” The last monster in the set was a big scorpion with two tails and four pincers. The tails were too heavy, and had to be propped up with spikes of ice and someone’s spear. 

There were brief breaks where cups of hot tea and fried puff-puffs were passed around. It was growing dark by the time the finishing touches were added to the sculptures. The watching crowd had grown from just parents, teachers, the Primes, and the Dora Milaje. T’Challa counted ranks of white-robed Jabari shamans among the cluster of people drifting over from the Fastness. Most paid him no heed, other than a curious look at the furs he wore.

M’Baku clapped sharply once the sun began to dip under distant peaks. The kids stepped away from their sculptures, grinning as M’Baku knelt to congratulate each team. Their parents pulled them back to the waiting crowd. T’Challa scanned expectant faces as M’Baku tugged him over to the Primes and Dora Milaje. Was the Elder Council to judge? Or the Godkeepers? 

“The panther is still my favourite,” he told M’Baku in a whisper. 

“Who’s biased now?” 

T’Challa was about to reply when there was an excited cry from the crowd. A child’s voice, quickly hushed. From the slopes that led to the peaks, Hanuman’s children had come. The great Wakandan gorillas ambled down to the lake, adults and young ones both, a meandering troop of eight. M’Baku walked out from the crowd, coming to a stop at a respectful distance. He sat down, waiting. The gorilla at the head of the troop approached. The big male would have towered over M’Baku even if M’Baku had been on his feet. As he walked up to M’Baku with sober grace, T’Challa found that he was holding his breath, but the gorilla merely sat in turn. He bent, with a huffing sound that M’Baku replied to with a low grunt. They touched noses. 

The gorilla turned to scan the crowd with gentle curiosity, pausing as he saw T’Challa. He ambled over, ignoring gasps from the crowd. M’Baku was hastily getting to his feet, his eyes wide. Something had gone wrong. Okoye shifted her weight, about to step in front of T’Challa. He held out his hand to stop her, stepping forward instead as the gorilla came to a stop. Ignoring whispers of surprise from the crowd, he reached over, plucking curiously at the furs over T’Challa’s shoulders. Letting out a grunt, he looked over at the closest shamans for clarification. They made a low hooting sound in response. Snorting, the gorilla turned around and knuckled over to the sculptures. He stood beside M’Baku as the rest of the troop solemnly inspected the sculptures, hooting and grunting among themselves. 

The panther sculpture was duly admired, but the centipede drew the most comment. Gorillas touched the arched legs, the long jaws, grunting and gesturing excitedly. Eventually, the leader ambled over. He detached the head of the centipede from the sculpture with great care, setting it down on the snow. 

A cheer rose from the watching Jabari. The two girls who had worked on the centipede squealed and hugged each other. M’Baku beckoned. They ran over, grinning proudly, hand in hand. The big gorilla pressed fingertips gently to their heads in a silent benediction. Then he turned to go, chivvying the troop back along the lake. They disappeared into the high peaks as quietly as they had come. 

Beside the broken sculpture, M’Baku held up the girls’ fists as though they were triumphant prizefighters. “Our winners!” 

Cheering and laughing, the crowd swept over for a closer look at the sculptures now that the gorillas had gone. M’Baku bent over to whisper to the girls. He handed them over to their parents before coming over to T’Challa. 

“Evil has been vanquished for the day,” M’Baku told him. There was a relief he could not hide. 

“That happens every year?” T’Challa asked.

“More or less,” M’Baku said. There was a warning tone to his voice. T’Challa swallowed the rest of his questions. He followed M’Baku back into the crowd, congratulating the winners and consoling the disappointed runners up. It was late by the time they retired to the Fastness. 

T’Challa wasn’t surprised when M’Baku invited him to his chambers after dinner. Flattered, maybe. He handed back the furs in the warm room, and caught the odd look on M’Baku’s face as M’Baku set the furs and the StarkPad aside. “You can speak to gorillas?” T’Challa asked. 

M’Baku rolled his eyes. “Can you speak to panthers?”

“Well, I haven’t tried,” T’Challa said lightly. M’Baku studied him, his expression carefully blank. 

“To some extent, yes. We have an understanding with all the creatures in the Vault,” M’Baku said, after a grudging pause. 

T’Challa sighed. “We’re not here to steal your secrets.” 

“Is that the royal ‘we’ I hear?” 

“I don’t want everything that has happened to be just an alliance of convenience,” T’Challa persisted. 

“Politics is all about alliances of conveniences.” M’Baku walked over to T’Challa, stepping right into his personal space. T’Challa forced himself to stay still, to look up calmly instead of backing off. M’Baku tilted his head. “I wonder what Khuselwa saw.”

“The gorilla?” 

“They are the warders of the Vault. The gods of judgment. The arbiters of good and evil. Strange that he approached you.” 

“Perhaps he recognised your furs and was confused.” 

M’Baku scowled. “Careful, O King. You’re making light of an avatar of a God.” 

“That’s not my intention…” T’Challa trailed off as M’Baku started to laugh. “Really? Really. You’d joke about something like this. You’re terrible.”

“Eh, there will be rumours everywhere tomorrow. I might as well joke about _something_ while I still can.” 

“Rumours?” 

“Khuselwa made a mistake.” At T’Challa’s blank stare, M’Baku explained, grinning, “The last person he approached for a closer look like that was my mother. Before she agreed to marry my father.” 

Ah. “Does he usually make mistakes?” T’Challa asked. His amusement faded as M’Baku tensed instead of laughing it off. 

“Everything makes mistakes,” M’Baku said. He smiled again, but this time, it looked a little forced. As M’Baku tried to step back, T’Challa grasped his bracers. He rubbed his thumbs over the textured wood, the dips and knots. 

“I don’t think he made a mistake,” T’Challa said softly. He looked up at M’Baku, challenging him to deny it. “No, I _know_ he didn’t.” 

M’Baku stared back, inscrutable. The Jabari revered their Great Gorilla as an avatar of their God as well. T’Challa could believe it. This close, M’Baku was an undeniably handsome man. There was something easy in the power he wore like a mandate, something immovable in his poise. If the world itself tried to push M’Baku to the side, M’Baku would simply laugh and push back, step by step until it yielded. The fact that M’Baku had given way to T’Challa on the falls still humbled him. M’Baku smiled with divine mischief and bent. He kissed T’Challa’s cheek, and laughed as T’Challa growled, demanding more.

T’Challa backed them both to the couch, pushing M’Baku down. He chased the same divine mischief on M’Baku’s tongue, over the jumping arch of his throat. M’Baku stroked his thumbs over T’Challa’s hips in playful circles. He snickered as T’Challa cursed at the catches on his vest, but didn’t bother to help him out. T’Challa pressed his tongue over the knots of ink on M’Baku’s skin, up the dips of muscle on his arm. This was worship of some nature, a heresy between them. M’Baku’s breaths stuttered against T’Challa’s jaw. He kissed the soft skin under T’Challa’s ear, set the touch of teeth against flesh. T’Challa shuddered and M’Baku’s amusement shook out of him in low huffs, a rough and rumbling sound that shook T’Challa in his bones. A god, laughing. 

M’Baku twisted, flipping them around. He unbuttoned T’Challa’s jacket, nudging kisses over exposed skin. “How long?” T’Challa asked, as M’Baku nuzzled his belly.

He felt M’Baku’s grin pressed against his skin. “How long what?” 

“Should I have been visiting the Jabari more frequently before or after—”

M’Baku interrupted him with a snort. His beard tickled as he nuzzled T’Challa over the band of his trousers. “Maybe I liked having you at my mercy,” he said, facetious.

“I don’t think so.” T’Challa stroked his fingertips through M’Baku’s hair. “You’re not that kind of person.” 

M’Baku glanced up. Amusement and lust were a good look on a man this beautiful. He kissed T’Challa’s thigh, chuckling. “Maybe I liked it when you had me at your mercy.” 

“Really.” 

“Eh. I’ve never been defeated in a fight. Until you. It made an impression.” M’Baku started to tug T’Challa’s pants and underwear down, slowly at first, then in quick jerks when T’Challa twisted up to help him. 

“By that measure you’d be more attracted to Okoye.” 

M’Baku smirked. “Oh, that’s right. All this is just a strategy to get closer to the General.” 

He kissed T’Challa’s firming cock when T’Challa started to protest. T’Challa purred as M’Baku licked him, root to tip. M’Baku sucked him down and hummed as T’Challa’s hips twitched, his fingertips scratching over the broad stretch of M’Baku’s shoulders. It was clear that M’Baku hadn’t done this often. He was enthusiastic but sloppy, sucking out of rhythm, a hand squeezed too roughly over the rest. Yet it felt deliciously obscene to have a man this proud on his knees, his eyes squeezed tight in concentration. 

T’Challa moaned. He thrust against M’Baku’s grip, into the heat of his mouth. He arched as M’Baku yielded this to him too. T’Challa’s heels rubbed down over M’Baku’s spine, his groans broken against the low rumbling sound M’Baku made. M’Baku might be the one on his knees but he demanded T’Challa’s pleasure, dragged it from him. He drank greedily as T’Challa gasped his name and spilled, and grinned smugly, as he licked T’Challa clean.

“Come on,” T’Challa gasped. He hauled M’Baku up against him with panther strength. M’Baku held his grin against their kiss, his hands loose over T’Challa’s waist as he rubbed himself against a thigh. He didn’t make a sound as T’Challa spat on his palms and reached down for him. Mouth buried against T’Challa’s throat, M’Baku breathed deeply. When he came, it was with a noiseless tremor.

#

T’Challa woke under thick pelts to find M’Baku cross-legged on the bed, watching something on his StarkPad. Outside, the sun was slow-rising. “Morning,” T’Challa said, yawning.

M’Baku flinched. He started to close whatever he’d been looking at on his StarkPad, but it was too late. T’Challa had already seen it. “Really?” T’Challa asked, amused. “You use that thing to watch cat videos?”

“Among other things,” M’Baku said. He was too visibly embarrassed for that to be true. T’Challa laughed, rolling onto his back. He kept laughing as M’Baku mock-scowled and tossed the StarkPad aside, reaching over to tickle him. 

“The Great Gorilla’s secret weakness,” T’Challa managed to say between gasps. “Is that why I’m in your bed?” 

M’Baku rolled his eyes. “There’s really no reason why your costume has cat ears.”

“Shuri said they were necessary.” 

“Your sister is a fantastic liar.” M’Baku raked fingertips over T’Challa’s flanks, making him twist and yelp.

“Stop… all right, stop,” T’Challa was growing breathless. They wrestled on the bed. He managed to pin M’Baku through strength and luck rather than skill, and let M’Baku squirm against him until he gave in. 

“I might like cats,” M’Baku conceded. 

T’Challa let up and nuzzled his cheek. “I could send you some. Kittens? What colour?”

“They’d be considered an invasive species. No. But thanks,” M’Baku said, a little reluctantly. 

“We have cats in Birnin Zana. I’ll have some brought into the palace. You could visit.” 

“Still an invasive species,” M’Baku said, though he was clearly wavering. He conceded with a scowl, averting his eyes. “White and brown. Like that big funny cat who likes boxes. And don’t think I don’t know a bribe when I see it.” 

T’Challa chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of bribing you, O Great Gorilla.” M’Baku sniffed, curling an arm around T’Challa’s back. He relaxed as T’Challa nuzzled his throat, and they kissed as the sun climbed up into the clouds.

**Author's Note:**

> Refs:  
> A discussion on Ghekre vs Hanuman in the Black Panther film: https://www.quora.com/Why-does-the-Jabari-mountain-tribe-in-Black-Panther-worship-the-Hindu-god-Hanuman
> 
> How to Greet a Mountain Gorilla https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P1fquFbz74I


End file.
